lunch and islands

Here is an island and there is an island, and then for thousands of miles there is only water. The islands are not that big either, and, yes, there are many smaller islands scattered around and between them. They're in the Pacific Ocean and I've never felt so alone. Is there a hospital? What if I stepped on a stonefish in the shallows, or get stung by a man o' the whisps or something. I slip and I fall. Down a remote ravine on this remote island. I'm clumsy that way. I may have broken a leg. The one helicopter on the island is off the island. There are snakes here. Sea snakes but also the other ones. The land snakes. Christ, there may even be amphibian snakes. As deadly as any Australian outback rattler (and they're probably related). I get bit as I lie at the bottom of the ravine with the boulders and the ferns. Now I'm dying and I only have one leg to stand on. The snake didn't go far off either. It's thinking maybe it can swallow me. I can see it's shifty little eye, it's darting tongue, take the measure of me. Tasting, tasting the furnace air here at the bottom of the ravine. The helicopter could take me to the hospital. They can still fix my leg. Then again, they probably don't have any serum left. I can feel my arm dying now. The flesh around the bite is swollen, the skin has gone all crispy like roast chicken skin. It sounds hollow when I tap on it as the echoes of my screams subside. They can't get the serum to the hospital in under a week. A helicopter has to refuel four or five times definitely before it will reach the main land. Not all the islands have helicopter fuel. Some don't even have boat fuel. There are reports of an enormous climate change hurricane between and among some of the islands along the way. My arm has dropped off which is a relief. I didn't like that skin. Several large lizards are fighting the snake for the arm. There are also ants and at least one tree frog involved. It doesn't even resemble my arm anymore. I'm glad it's not attached to me. It's a drawn out, wet, tearing sound when it splits at the elbow. Its fingers twitch, form a futile fist where they hang out the mouth of a half-dragon. They can keep me alive on the machines for at most a week if they don't run out of generator fuel, which they might since they've been trying to keep an old man alive so his family can come in from the mainland to see him off. Liver cancer. I could do with a drink. I could do with an arm. I'm lying awkwardly and my belt buckle is sticking into my stomache. I try to shift and my screams attract more lizards. The vultures circling above me provide very little shade. There is a lot of saliva dripping off my severed arm. Foamy. I think the lizard is dying. It's lying on its side, breathing sharp and shallow. It's panting in the noon day sun. My arm slips out, bursts on the rocky ground. The ants are rushing in to clean up. I can still see three chubby fingers and a thumb, pale like raw pork sausages. Maybe the Americans can send a super fast stealth helicopter, but they're probably busy with naval exercises around the southern Japanese islands. Navel gazing exercises, I figure. The lizard has stopped breathing. It's dead, say the vultures as they settle in for lunch. The hospital will be nice and cool. I hate the smell of them, but it can't be worse than this. I'd like to scratch the wound where my arm used to be attached but I've done enough screaming and my throat hurts like a motherfucker.